


King of the Forest

by ToadstoolTea



Series: The Forest Verse [1]
Category: Tumbling
Genre: All the Canon Characters Show Up Though, Alternate Universe - Dark, Brief Captivity, Canon-Typical Violence, Class Issues, Freudian Issues Everywhere, Gen, Homophobia, Nakamaship, OC Stand-Ins, There's Tumbling in Here Somewhere, Yakuza, canon remix, juvenile delinquents, unnecessary novelization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToadstoolTea/pseuds/ToadstoolTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wataru Azuma may be the baddest kid in town, but all he wants is to do graduate high school. To do so, he's forced to join the nerdiest club on campus.  It's an unlikely event that sets many others into motion, leading Wataru and his companions to discover more about themselves, their backgrounds, and their futures.</p><p>In this part, the most infamous fighter in the city falls to a pair of tights, giving a team the opportunity they never thought would come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pinstripes and a Promise

**Author's Note:**

> I know the fandom is kinda dead but shout out to all the people who gushed with me about this show in one context or another. I miss every single one of you! ♥

> Line after line has flown back over the border  
>  Where are you headed all by yourself? [...]  
>  If they caught you in a net or with a shot,  
>  Would it be worse than flying alone?
> 
> \-- _Cui Tu, "A Solitary Wildgoose"_

 

"This whole damned city is going to hell, Natsu. The whole country is."

Next comes the grunt, and then the fiddling with his lapels, as if his chest has swelled so much he is about to burst right out of his double-breasted, pinstriped blazer.

The middle-aged man looks much too smartly-dressed to be patronizing a place such as the dimly-lit shack called Kamome; besides a few neon beer logos under the chalkboard menus and a muted television in the corner of the room, most of the light came in through the windows. The rich blue color of his suit looks even more regal and bold against the yellowed, smoke-stained walls of the diner. The cracks in the wood of the chair he sits in are so regular, they nearly line up with the suit's pinstripes.

The man runs a napkin over his face and places it on top of the crumbs and sauce of his emptied plate before he turns his attention to his paper.

Watching him carefully across the bar is Kamome's owner-slash-bartender-slash-main cook, a woman several years younger. Her face looks somewhat worn, but kind, the pattern of her kimono is slightly faded, and her sleeves are tied back by tasuki. As she polishes a glass, she skims what she can of the headlines visible to her. All are dismal, but none all that unfamiliar.

 

      _ESTIMATED 30% OF LOCAL BUSINESSES LINKED TO YAKUZA_

      _TEEN MURDER CASE ARRAIGNMENT TODAY_

      _SUMO FIXING SCANDAL REACHES KANAGAWA_

 

For the man, it's the last one that does it.

"Even sumo. This is Japan. Natsu... when sumo is gone, what will we have?" The man lowered his paper, the look in his eyes distant, and the creases in his brow deep. He looked convinced that he had posed some kind of question for the ages, and the answer would save all of humanity.

When she doesn't answer, the man's eyes dart to and fro, as if he is searching his mind -- or perhaps, the room -- for an answer. When his eyes finally fall on the television hanging in the corner of the room, a grin breaks out across his face.

"Maybe that?" He pointed up to the television. The woman looked up to see some kind of gymnastics performance on... wasn't it? It was a floor exercise, but it was a group of young men, and the last time she'd checked, men didn't do that sort of thing...

"I was thinking something more along the lines of... baseball, maybe soccer?"

The man folds his paper and leans forward, a twinkle in his eye. "Did you know that men's rhythmic gymnastics is a very Japanese tradition? We essentially reinvented the sport." The woman only stares before grabbing another glass to polish, but the man persists with a youthful grin on his face. "It's true!"

"You know the strangest things."

The man smiles lightly before the newspaper steals his attention back. The woman quietly continues her cleaning. Both are so engrossed in their activities that neither realizes how much time passes until the shop's signal bell rings and heavy footsteps boom down the stairs.

Out of her trance, the woman quickly realizes who it is, and who is still sitting in front of her. There's no way she ask the man to leave without causing a scene, but...

She looks up to boy silent and bewildered in the middle of the restaurant's floor, his usual "I'm home" absent. He is staring wide-eyed at the man in the pinstripe suit, like he knows that he is not one of normal customers, and he's not supposed to be there. Likes he knows just who he might be.

There's not much the woman can do to avert attention from her guest, so she only offers a shaky "welcome home."

It is now that the man looks up from his paper and realizes who has entered the store. With a wide grin, he gets up from from his stool, and turns to approach the boy. "Ah, here's the little one! Well, not so little anymore, I see."

The man looked over the boy, still dressed in a bright blue school uniform. Even without his meticulously spiked hair, the boy stands nearly a head taller than the man in the suit. It's a fact that amuses the man; if he recalls correctly, the Azuma boy was barely into his teens, which means he still has quite a bit of growing left to do...

The boy's gaze on the man intensifies, and the lines in his face fold into a scowl so deep he looks like a dog defending his home. It's an effort than only spurs the man's amusement; he smiles bigger. He can see it -- _feel_ it. There's a fire in this boy's eyes, and a fire in his heart. Even if the boy won't speak a word him, it's that look that tells him all he needs to know.

The man stops a few feet from the boy before looking him over again; top to bottom several times, like he's appraising him for sale. Finally, he remarks, "you look to be doing well. Not getting into any trouble, I hope? Making good grades? Eating your vegetables?"

"Don't get any ideas. Wataru's a good boy," says the woman. The man turns to her, regarding her with a grim face. He knows the woman just as well as she knows him, and he knows that her words are not simply a warning. She's _threatening_ him.

After a moment of thought, it's a something that makes the smile return to his face. It's easy to see where the boy's tenacity comes from.

Indeed, the Azumas are an such an... interesting pair. They are most definitely worthy of such a busy and important man's time and attention. He had been keeping an eye on the two for years now, and his meeting the boy today convinces him of nothing but the necessity in watching over them for years to come.

That thought in mind, looks back to the boy, with a twinkle in his eye. "You stay on the right side of things, okay?" he says with a wink. He then withdraws a few billfolds from a wallet as gaudy as the rest of his outfit and tosses it on the bar.

It's a gesture that earns him a growl from the boy. But he the man is so light on his feet he's able to pat the boy on the head and make it the the front door without before any response.

From the safety of the exit, he smiles once more. "Well, I'm off. Take care, Natsu."

Her head bowed, she quickly moves to the bar to retrieve the payment and dirtied dishes. By the time she returns, the boy is sitting at the stool where the man sat minutes prior, a cigarette dangling from his lips and twirling a lighter in his fingers.

"Kaa-chan," he drawls, as he lights the cigarette in his mouth. The woman stares at the boy in response, considering his strange juxtaposition of features. The playful hair, the tobacco between his lips. The height of a full-grown man in a middle-school uniform she'd had to specially order. Those eyes that reminded her so much of _him_ , such an old soul at times, though they became puffy and rimmed with tears whenever she threatened him for his childish antics.

_Her son._

The boy wonders if he's being judgmental. He usually knows whether he'll like or dislike a person within seconds of meeting them, but that man... that feeling was new. He's never felt that he should hate a person from first impressions alone.

He looks to the television to see the boys tumbling in their tights sequined tops, thinks how strange it is, and how it reminds him of something. But he can't follow the train of thought for how uncomfortable the man has made him. Taking a few puffs of his cigarette, he turns to the woman behind the counter and asks, "the hell was that?" while gesturing toward the entrance.

She gathers the abandoned newspaper and tucks it away behind the counter, picks up the remote and turns off the television. The returns to her place before the boy and looks over him for just enough time to pique his attention before she speaks:

"Wataru."

The boy's eyes light up in recognition. He knows the tone. This is important. He crushed the cigarette in one of the stray ashtrays at the bar, and now his eyes are wide and childlike and waiting.

She stands in front of the boy, arms folded, considering how she will choose her words. There aren't many times when, in that moment, you know your actions will have a lasting, life-changing effect on someone's life, but she knows what will follow will be that for her son.

Then she takes a deep breath.

"Wataru, right now, can you promise me one thing?"


	2. A Day in the Life of Wataru Azuma

Run.

_Run!_

Heavy boots pounded against faded pavement, kicking up dust and dirt and pebbles as Wataru Azuma dashed down the main street of the town shopping district. In his haste, he nearly collided with an old man dawdling about with a walker and a trio of tiny school girls that managed to take up the entire width of the street, but his luck ran out when he smashed into a woman carrying a large shopping bag.

The two fell to the ground, sending a few dozen mandarin oranges tumbling down the road.

By the time the boy came to his senses again, the woman was back on her feet, watching forlornly as her purchase was making its escape. As Wataru reached for his bookbag, he eyed the woman. Luckily, she didn't seem to be hurt. At least, she wasn't dying and like people always said spilt fruit never made anyone cry. Or something.

Wataru looked up in time to see a large man in overalls appear from behind a crate of radishes before one of the open booths. The man removed his hat and squinted at the boy. "W-W-Wataru? That you again? What're you--"

The boy just groaned; he had no time for the greengrocer's antics. "Mr. Potato Head, just handle this, will ya?" he shouted, pointing in the direction of the fruits and the woman chasing them down the road. Shouting a "sorry, lady!" in her direction, he scrambled to his feet. Irate morning shoppers were a dime a dozen, and he'd always have a chance to deal with the pumpkin peddler later.

None of that compared to what was currently at stake.

"Wataru!" shouted the greengrocer, but by then he was already halfway down the block.

The going was quicker after Wataru had ducked into an alley and jumped over the rickety chain-link fence he had been using as a shortcut since his kindergarten days. Like lightning, he bolted through a neighborhood, across the park, and around the pier.

But the very second he started thinking he was making good time, Wataru stumbled across a scene that brought him to a screeching halt. 

Stretching across the entire length of the pier was a group of about two dozen boys, clad in the blue _gakuran_ of a high school that wasn't Wataru's. Standing before him was a colorful sea of faces. Permed, spiked, and slicked hair was bleached and dyed in as many colors as he could count, above impatient eyes and menacing smirks. Some had baseball bats in their grips, while others dragged iron pipes along the ground or twirled metal chains before them. 

...it was going to be another one of those mornings.

Exhaustion hit Wataru as hard and as quickly as that realization, like a freight train to the face. He bent over, leaning on his thighs, making sure to keep both eyes locked on the group ahead of him.

Every member of the gang in front of him return the gaze, some suspicious, others amused. All noted the form of the wheezing young man. He was as tall or taller than most of the blue-clad delinquents, and even in his baggy school uniform, it was evident that Wataru was very muscled for a high school boy.

It was just that he wasn't used to running.

At the front of the gang was a tall boy with a bleached punch perm. A cigarette hanging from his lips bobbed up and down as he laughed a particularly ugly laugh, like someone would sound with a bad cold.

"Wataru Azuma?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wataru narrowed his eyes at the speaker, still panting. "Yeah?"

As brief as the response was, the head of the blue group's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. " _The_ Wataru Azuma? Gang leader from Karasumori?"

Gang leader, that's what people called him. Sometimes the word was delinquent, and other times yankee, or other variations of the same idea. Wataru didn't exactly agree with their choice of words, but he also didn't have the linguistic aptitude or the patience to argue. At the current moment, he really didn't have the time, either. He grit his teeth and shrugged his shoulders before uttering hurriedly, "yeah, that's my name, and I go to Kara High but--"

"The feared 'Red Scourge'?" the boy in blue added quickly, cutting Wataru off. With each word, his voice grew louder and more excited. "The guy who's never lost a fight?" 

Wataru had also heard that nickname many times before, likely because he decided to dye his hair the color of fire engines when he started high school. Lots of kids dyed their hair, so it wasn't something he thought much about. And strictly speaking, he'd never lost a battle between a group of other delinquents. He knew he was a kickass fighter and all, but he didn't think that was so extraordinary, either.

But the way the guy was gawking at him, it was weird. He sounded more like he wanted to start a fan club than... what kids who usually confronted did. Wataru waved a hand of dismissal. "Whatever, I just--"

"The guy who's beat up a thousand other kids? The guy who knew the crazy a few years back? The guy with the mom who's in the--"

_"Shut up!"_

If looks could kill, the tiny little Misaki Town cemetery would've had to make room for two dozen more gravestones.

Suddenly, Wataru was so angry that he shaking, standing at his full height with his fists balled up and prepared to knock the skull right off of this creep. Voice suddenly barely audible over the waves, but sounding just that much more resolute, he uttered, "I swear, if you don't shut up _right now_."

And the boy did, though something between a snort and a laugh escaped from his lips. He was _proud_ of the fact he'd touched a nerve. Wataru hated when people did that, twisted shit just to get him riled up...

"Yo, Wataru!"

Luckily for the boy in blue, that was when Wataru was distracted by the arrival of his own companions. He turned around to see five boys in black uniforms approaching, most with smiles, all shouting slightly tired, but amicable greetings.

"Hey-hey guys!"

"'Morning, Aniki!"

One of the boys tossed his hand over Wataru's shoulders. "'Sup, man?"

"Seven forty-two already," huffed a hoodie-wearing boy, walking a bicycle.

"Less than twenty minutes... will we make it?" The boy clinging to Wataru, a grinning bleached blond, rubbed his hands together excitedly.

That's when the newcomers finally realized something.

"Ah, come to think of it, who are those guys?"

Upon that question, the boys all turned to the shortest member of their group, a boy with dark pair of sunglasses hiding his gaze. At the cue, he tilted his head slightly, a pair of sharp eyes on the offending party. "Kyou Midorikawa. Third-year at Hibarizaka High School; new leader of their biggest gang. Apparently likes to talk a lot."

"That's right!" confirmed the blue leader. "Kyou Midorikawa will be first man to defeat the famed Wataru Azuma--"

"That's all well and good, but can't that wait 'til later?" This time everyone turned to Wataru, who for the first time that morning, had a look of uncertainty on his face. "It's just that today's the first day of school and it's already seven forty-two--"

"-- _three_ \--" piped in the blond.

"--three," Wataru corrected himself, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "And I'm gonna be late. Tomorrow, maybe? Wait until tomorrow... hell, this afternoon if you want, and we can get this settled."

Midorikawa's jaw dropped so low that the cigarette fell to his feet. The only sound was the breeze coming in from the sea.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do I have 'idiot' written all over my face? The Wataru Azuma I know, the Wataru Azuma of _legend_ does not weasel his way out of a fight. That Azuma cannot be the loser standing in front of me right now."

That was it. Those lies about his friends and folks had been the first strike, and calling him a loser was a clear second. Wataru had a mind to award this Midorikawa character a preemptive third because that was when he realized it.

_This motherfucker was going to make him late for class._

"Wataru Azuma, this is the year you're going down!" shouted Midorikawa, waving his arm. 

Revitalized, a growl worked its way up from Wataru's belly to his mouth, and he slammed his school bag on the ground. _"Bring it!"_

In seconds, both groups of boys were charging at each other, their battlecries piercing the air. It took Wataru fourteen seconds and a single swing to floor his first Hibarizaka opponent. In ones and twos, several other boys followed. So conditioned he was for battle, he couldn't hear the thought poking at him in the back of mind: This year was supposed to be different. Of course, he'd told himself that the year before, and the year before that...

_"Wataru!"_

But he did hear the cry of one of his companions. Automatically the redhead spun around, swinging a fist. As the kid now in front of him crumbled to the ground, Wataru got a good look at the pier. Blue far outnumbered black, but his friends were skilled. The members of the Karasumori gang moved faster and hit harder, even without stooping to the level of using weapons.

After headbutting one of those chain-toting jokers, he crumbled to the ground, allowing Wataru another brief view of the battlefield. And Midorikawa pushing through the crowds in an attempt to get away.

That bastard.

Wataru shoved a pair of Hibarizaka guys down, stepping on one on his trek toward Midorikawa. His morning was already ruined, so he might as well lay the hurt on the jerk that had gotten his year off to such a crappy start.

......

"You couldn't wait just _one day?_ "

Wataru slumped in the corner of the staff room, enduring Principal Nishikawa's inaugural scolding for the year. By some miracle of god, it turned out that Wataru _wasn't_ late, but even if he was, tardiness would be the least of his offenses of the morning.

Nishikawa had dismissed the other five already, like he usually did. Wataru didn't mind it. It always went the same way: someone was pining for a fight with the infamous yankee named Azuma, and the others just got dragged into it. Or maybe Wataru's temper got him into trouble... along with everyone else. Either way, it would be his fault. Besides, it was his responsibility as leader.

So he stood there, leaning before the head teacher's desk, which Nishikawa was borrowing for the lecture.

"One day, that's all I ask from you, Azuma," continued the man, wagging a finger in the boy's direction. 

In his other hand, he waved a memo page with notes scrawled all over it. Wataru had caught bits and pieces of them earlier -- 'a red-haired adolescent', and 'a dozen injures' in between descriptions of the other gang members.

"You couldn't wait just one," Nishikawa repeated. In fact, his face was as red as the dyed hair of the boy in front of him, and his voice had risen a few octaves. If his anger escalated any further, it looked like the puffed-up man's head would just pop off his body.

Wataru exhaled, and looked out of the window past the fuming principal. The fields were empty and he guessed the halls were too; he was probably the only student not in homeroom by now. He squared his jaw, focusing his eyes on something past the nets and fences before he turned back to the principal.

"No, I couldn't."

It wasn't that he wanted to fight. In fact, Wataru would argue that it was the universe that decreed he would fight that morning. That's why everything lined up as it did: his oversleeping, running into that nasal loser from the other school, the guy taking nothing but shit when all he was trying to do was get to school on time...

Wataru shook his head. When he thought about it, there was absolutely no way the fates would have allowed him to go without fighting that morning. So he stood there, suppressing his desire to protest and assert that it wasn't his fault. He had been doing this song and dance with the principal for the past two years, and no matter what explanations he offered, the man deemed them as excuses. 

So Nishikawa closed his eyes, bowed his head, and clasped his hands together. Whether he was thinking or praying, Wataru didn't know, but it seemed like several minutes went by before the man opened his eyes again, looked to the boy, and said the magic words.

"I'm calling your mother."

In an instant, all the aloofness the boy had maintained fell to the floor and shattered to pieces. Wataru grabbed the principal's desk, looking much like he was going to follow suit. "C'mon, it's the new year!" he pleaded. "I don't get one freebie?"

"Maybe we should hold off." A young lady dressed in a labcoat cut in, making herself the first the teachers to acknowledge the 'Azuma Issue' for the 2010 school term. "Azuma-kun's mother is a busy woman, with her _business_ and all."

The teacher drew out the word 'business' in a way that attracted the attention of the rest of the staff room's occupants, and hesitant looks crossed all of their faces.

"Fuck you, Kaa-chan's legit," hissed the boy, shooting a look at the science teacher that could have gotten him expelled for weapons possession. The staff of Karasumori Senior High School all seemed to believe that there was something more to the meek woman that could send shivers down the spine of the one of the worst juvenile delinquents in the town. Just _what_ that something was an open a secret among them, but even more well-known were the consequences of saying that six-letter word in the presence of the younger Azuma.

Whether Nishikawa believed it or not, he ignored both of them, slowly taking his seat and reaching for the telephone on the desk. It took but a glance at device for him to steal Wataru's attention again, and with every millimeter his hand moved, the boy squirmed, whimpered, and sputtered.

"I'll do anything! I'll never fight again, I swear! I'll ace all my tests! I'll shine your freaking shoes..."

"Azuma. This is going to be the year," Nishikawa proclaimed, slamming a fist on his desk. Wataru watched the man carefully. Calling his mother was usually the principal's first and last resort, so if that silver bullet was gone, did the man have any ammo left? 

The answer was yes.

Nishikawa grinned a greasy grin. "You're in homeroom 3-C now."

"The hell?" Wataru blurted out, attracting the attention of every teacher in the room once more. Like every other student had inspected the rosters posted in front of campus. It had been just like the year before, and the year before that. He was assigned to the same classes as Ryousuke and the rest.

Wataru stared at the principal long and hard. If calling his mother was punishment worthy of the ninth circle of hell, then splitting up the gang had to be the flames of floor number eight.

"I told your friends before they left for their classes."

"Stop screwin' with me, man."

The upper hand finally in his grasp, the principal sat down and leaned back in the teacher's chair. As he looked up to Wataru, the boy could see Nishikawa's grin grew even wider.

"Azuma, that isn't the half of it."

......

It was about ten minutes later that Wataru found himself grating his teeth as he made his way up the stairs to get to his new homeroom. Nishikawa did not lie. The bit about switching classes was _not_ the half of it. But in the end, no school official had succeeded in phoning his mother to whine about stupid things, and that was what really mattered.

A deep breath. Small victories, he thought to himself. It was enough to spur a small smile onto his lips as he trudged up another flight of stairs. As he ascended them, he didn't notice the few stray students that pinned themselves against the railing as he approached, or almost tripped in an attempt to get away from him. He didn't notice anything until he made it to the senior floor, and heard a painfully familiar voice.

_"Pathetic!"_

Of the students that hadn't disappeared into their homerooms yet, there lingered a sizable group in the middle of the corridor. Even at a distance, Wataru could easily recognize who most of them were. Three of the tallest figures were comprised most of his group, with a few "normals" on the fringe, with one cowering on the floor in the middle. The others... Brightly colored streaks of hair, as well as some braids. Hiked-up skirts, some baggy socks, and makeup that better suited a night on the town than a morning for learning. Wataru groaned. They were, well, _the other gang_.

"You're perverts, all of you!" shouted one of the shortest of the girls, the one Wataru recognized as yelling before. Aoi Asakura was the leader of the "Garudas", and as fierce a fighter as any of the members of Wataru's own group.

Unfortunately, she had the temper to match.

"I'm sorry, I tripped--" the boy on the floor whimpered.

But Asakura merely clicked her tongue in response. "Hell yeah, you tripped, 'cause you were trying to peek under my skirt!" That didn't deter the girl from raising her leg for another kick. Wataru, as well as everyone else in the hall saw a flash of pastel pink lace before they were taken by a collective wince.

Even Wataru closed his eyes when he saw the foot connect with its target. As many fights as he'd been in, he'd been on the receiving end of an Asakura kick exactly once, and would rather take on any gang in the city than have that experience again.

"You guys are so gross! Those weirdo costumes, the so-called dancing... all of it. You're _disgusting_!"

"Hey, Aoi-chan," cooed one of the tall boys observing the scene, Wataru's blond friend Ryousuke. "Just because you're girls doesn't mean you can beat any Tom, Dick and Harry that grinds your nerves. One more kick and you'll break poor Harry here in two."

Another one of his group, the hoodie-wearing Nippori, snickered to himself, repeating the name "Harry" a few times. The last of his friends hanging around, the shades-wearing Akabane, silently peered over his glasses as he watched the girl turn her attention to Wataru and his companions.

"We stay out of your gang's business, Tsukimori." The girl was diminutive compared to the boy, but something about her attitude made it seem like she was every bit as tall as the blond, and staring him down eye-to-eye.

This could get ugly.

 _"Enough!"_ Wataru yelled, his voice filling the hall. Every pair of eyes turned to him, those of the normals looking shaken and startled. Even a few students and teachers poked their heads outside of their respective classrooms, but it only took a quick look at the scene and a glare from the redhead to send them retreating.

Wataru cleared his throat and started approaching the group before he went on. 

"Nippori, get to class. Asakura, leave the dorks alone. Ryousuke, Akabane, c'mon."

Asakura glared back at Wataru, hers as offended as it was fierce. "Azuma! You can't tell me what to--"

The blond boy, clapped his hands together and mouthed the word 'please'. With a final scowl, Asakura gestured to the girls surrounding her, and they wordlessly moved down the hall, disappearing into their homerooms.

Ryousuke squinted at the retreating forms of the girls, or rather, certain parts before he got a punch to the side that was half-teasing, half-warning. The other members of the gang watched as the two normals standing helped the other to his feet.

Wataru watched the boys pick at Asakura's victim, checking for bruises before the tallest one turned to him. He stepped up to Wataru, and bowed slightly. Kid even had a touch of a smile on his face. Wataru raised an eyebrow. He did occasionally help normals from the aggression of other gangs, or sometimes that of members of his own group. But gratitude, it was rare. Kids like the unremarkable bowl-cut wearing boy and his two companions looked like the type that would preach to him about resorting to violence or something of that lot.

Perhaps he was thinking about it, as he eyes were averted when he raised his head again. But before either could say anything, Ryousuke had skipped up a few paces.

"What was she talking about? You guys dance?" He leaned forward and waggled his eyebrows as he continued, " _that_ kind of dance?"

"Ryousuke-san, not everyone has their mind in the gutter..." lamented Nippori. But he was looking to bowl-cut too. Even Akabane seemed interested in the boy's answer, as he leaned against the wall and looked to him beyond those dark glasses of his.

Wataru didn't really care one way or the other, but since everyone else seemed so interested, he looked to the boy as well, nodding as if to prompt him to answer.

The boy looked a little unsure of himself. Wataru figured that it was finally catching up to him that he was talking to _that damn Azuma and his gang._ But he persisted, holding Wataru's gaze, and started. 

"Actually it's--"

" _Ooooh!_ Aniki, the time!" Nippori interrupted. Wataru looked up to see the boy in the hoodie waving his arms toward a large clock mounted to the way.

"Shit, we're gonna be late!"

Wataru shoved Nippori in the direction of the stairs down to the sophomore hall, before he dashed off to _fucking_ 3-C. He cursed Nishikawa's name a few times as he stopped in front of 3-C's entrance. Ryousuke tapped him lightly on the shoulder before he moved toward 3-A, Wataru turned just in time to see a grumbling Akabane trudge into homeroom 3-D. Then, it finally hit him.

A year without his friends, huh.

_Azuma, that isn't the half of it._

Wataru shook his head. He really didn't want to think about the other half yet, but the principal's words echoed in his head anyway.

_You're failing, Azuma._

Wataru gripped braced himself against the door frame, as if he was about to fall. He felt like he might. It wasn't until the bell rung for classes to begin did he reluctantly walk into 3-C and into what he _needed_ to be the beginning of the end. 

......

All in all, the events of the first day of school were painfully routine. 

Pacing around their usual table at _Kamome_ , Wataru went through the checklist through his head. Fight with rival gang before school. Threatened by principal upon arrival to campus. Napped through homeroom. Another scuffle when school let out. Finally, it was time to round out the day loitering at his mother's restaurant.

As he navigated Kamome's front end, he sneaked glances at his friends, which all seemed to drawn and irritated. No doubt that the actions of the principal put everyone on edge, though it was harder to tell with some than the others.

For instance, Reiji Akabane was the type that always seemed to be upset about _something_ , his constant scowl only giving way to the sly grin he wore when he was scheming something up. Even as he tossed darts at the board on the far wall of the restaurant, Wataru could only imagine that Akabane was imagining up some elaborate plot as he tossed bull's eye after bull's eye at the target.

"So," started a boy behind Wataru. He turned to see Ryousuke Tsukimori, who was so often the first to talk in these kinds of situations. A slight grin on his face, he looked to his ever-present mobile phone before looking back up to Wataru. "What happened with the principal this time?"

Wataru shrugged, finally taking a seat at the gang's table, between its two occupants. "The usual."

He glanced to the other boy, Kazuhiko Shiramine, who was busying himself with some solitaire game. Quiet but sensible, he was a childhood friend of Akabane's. Shiramine only leered back, grunting before he placed another card. 

Ryousuke seemed to share Shiramine's incredulity. After sending off text message, he turned his body toward Wataru, leaning in with a mischeivious grin. "Really? It seemed like he railed on much longer than normal today."

Wataru bit his lip and fished for some excuse. He didn't want to admit what the principal had really talked to him about, especially since they were at the restaurant and his mother was likely somewhere in earshot. The very last thing he wanted was his mother to know about his possible failure...

Luckily, that was the moment when Shiramine pointed toward the storefront.

"And here we go again," he grumbled through clenched teeth. Wataru turned around to see three figures stumbling to the door. Two were familiar, but the trio had barged into the restaurant before he had to discern the other.

The first, Keiji Nippori nearly fell into the building, but he quickly recovered and dashed over to the table where the others were sitting. "Aniki, I swear, I told him not to--"

" _He_ was the one poking around like he had the problem!" growled the taller boy, a seething Tohru Konno. In his clutches was a diminutive fellow with a quickly forming bruise across the side of his face. But what stood out most to the boys more was the distinct gray blazer and plaid plants he was wearing.

Ryousuke lowered his phone, stroking his chin with his free hand. "He's _Wa-shi-zu_."

Washizu Academy was the best senior high school in the area, and the tuition reflected that. In the tiny town they lived in, it was the kind of place you attended if your parents were some kind of professionals, or local politicians, or even, say, mob bosses.

"Rare to see Washizu kids around this part of town, huh?"

Wataru stood up and approached the boy, and the latter's face lit u pin recognition. The same apprehension and dread crossed the features of the boy as typically adorned the faces of normal kids confronted by the "Red Scourge". Even those who have never met him knew of the stories about the huge teen with the fire-red hair.

It wasn't like Wataru _liked_ being intimidating, but it certainly was advantageous every now and again.

"Name," Wataru commanded, and the stranger promptly replied.

"Akihiko Tsurumi."

And every head in the room, save for Akihiko Tsurumi, turned toward Akabane. He was the scout of the group, and would know if the boy was anyone of note. Akabane took a second and furrowed his brows, but after a moment shook his head before tossing another dart. Twenty points.

If Akabane didn't know who the kid was, Wataru could be pretty sure that the boy didn't have any _connections_ that might come back and bite his group. "But just in case..."

Wataru pulled up his chair and sat backwards in front of Tsurumi, his face grim. It was true that most of the gang had hair-trigger tempers, but Konno was the member that was quickest to resort to this kind of violence.

"Konno. Rule number two?" barked Wataru.

"'Don't pick fights with anyone who can't fight back,'" the boy recited. Wataru sighed. It was far from the first time this had happened, and damn if he hadn't hammered the Rules into every one of his members by now.

But it was too late to think like that. So to make his point, he gestured toward Tsurumi, who was at least a head shorter than everyone in the gang and looked thin and wiry under his baggy uniform.

_"Apologize."_

"Sorry," Konno grumbled, shoulders slumped and looking toward the ground, something like a child being forced to apologize for a playground transgression.

"He didn't mean it, okay?" Wataru said, turning back to Tsurumi. "Do me a favor, and take a good look at everyone in this room. You ever have any trouble with anything, just find one of us or come back here."

The Washizu kid didn't move, and his skeptical eyes did not leave the redhead's face.

"I'm serious!" Wataru flashed a smile. Tsurumi's face did not change. He didn't look like the type the would actually take the yankee up on his offer, but then again, he didn't look like the type that would end up contacting the police.

A few minutes passed when no one said anything, and no one moved. Wataru kept his eyes locked onto those of Tsurumi, and Tsurumi actually held his gaze. There was something about his look reminded Wataru of the bowl-cut dork from earlier that day. _Two defiant dorks in one day_ , he thought. At least in one way, the year was getting off to an interesting start.

But like he expected, it was Tsurumi who faltered first, and he finally heeded to Wataru's advice and studied the faces of the other five boys in the restaurant. After that, he looked back to Wataru.

"I've got it. I'll do that. So can I go now?"

The millisecond Wataru nodded, the boy dashed back up to stairs, and by the time he blinked, he was out of the building and the signal bell was ringing. He looked to the door, and watched as the boy stumbled over himself as he walked past the storefront.

"Silly little boys, playing men's games when they barely know the the rules."

 _"K-K-Kaa-chan?"_

Wataru spun around, nearly falling out of his chair. Behind him was his mother, carrying a tray of drinks and wearing the most unamused face in the history of ever. How long had she been standing there? Had the Tsurumi kid been spooked by her instead? Wataru gulped.

She wasn't mad at _him_ was she?

With an audible sigh, Natsuko Azuma walked around the boys' table, placing a drink for each one. Her features were soft, but to Wataru, the way she drew her brows, and the intensity of her eyes... she could look as threatening as any yankee or gangster he knew.

"Keeping your promise, Wataru?" she asked, shooting him one of _those_ looks while she placed a cola for Akabane.

"Of c-c-course!" he stuttered. If he had the presence of mind, perhaps he would of realized how red his face was glowing from embarrassment. 

Lemonade for Nippori. "You know what will happen if you don't."

Wataru twisted back and jumped out of his chair, arranging it properly under the table. "I've made it this far, right? Graduating is no problem! I've got this!" He went, grinning widely.

Natsuko just stared at him.

It was such an icy look and Wataru could _feel_ the room temperature plummet. He might have even shivered. Sometimes he thought that his mom could smell lies like sharks could smell blood in the water.

But luckily, she didn't bite. "I see," she muttered and with a _clang_ , she placed Wataru's glass on table last. Despite seeing it was that mix of juice and tea he liked so much with just the right amount of ice, he could feel his stomach turning.

That's when the signal bell rang once more, and an older couple appeared at the entrance of the restaurant. 

"Welcome to Kamome!" Natsuko called, a wide smile suddenly on her face. Still queasy, looked to the front and wondered if she _could_ smell when actual customers entered the restaurant, rather than loitering kids like himself. That wouldn't surprise him. 

Cradling his head in his hands, Ryousuke watched as the woman shuffled over to greet the new customers, but not before she flashed _the look_ in Wataru's direction one last time. He sighed. "Natsuko-san's prettiest when she's scary, isn't she?"

Akabane, Nippori and the rest gathered at the table, nervous smirks on their faces as they busied themselves with their drinks. At a loss, Wataru reached over and punched Ryousuke in his side.

_"Shut up."_


End file.
